


Lonely Nights Spent Alone

by shinyeeveelover



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bisexuality, Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Control, Dystopia, F/F, F/M, Gay, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Genderqueer Character, Government Conspiracy, Interns & Internships, Journalist, LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character, Other, Pansexual Character, Podcast, Reporter, Terrorism, devastation, lgbtqia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 07:56:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17039831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinyeeveelover/pseuds/shinyeeveelover
Summary: The year 2040 and, Ceder is a well-known reporter, keeping the government away from their articles by keeping all the facts straight. They keep a Podcast and have thousands of listeners throughout the nation. Their world is suddenly disrupted when they are given a college student intern -Skye Umberly. Though the two get close, something always seems off about Skye.





	Lonely Nights Spent Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Before you start this is your trigger warning from the Author. I am warning about some of the content including; violent descriptions, gore, suggested rape. If these are triggers I will put warnings before that chapter to give you a heads up but other than that I can't prevent you from reading it. If you miss the chapter you will be missing a part of the story. Which can and most likely will confuse you. Sorry about that.

I watch the stars. The night air touching my skin, swallowing me whole. I wanted the valley to become the sky and engulf me like the waves of the sea. The grass of the valley was long and the sunflowers grew large enough to hide behind. It rose around me like a morning fog. The breeze was chilled, but -against the feel of the reminiscence of the summer heat- it was a welcome relief. I sigh. Sitting up, I pull a week old pack of cigarettes from my back pocket. Tapping one free, catching it between my fingers, I pull it to my lips and drag in, lighting it. With the exhale my breath taints the air. I pull more smoke into my lungs pretending that the grey exhale was the tension leaving my body. It’s been a while since I’ve been able to relax. The valley was quiet with symphonies of natural sound, In the distance an owl hoo-ed, crickets sing love songs to one another, and my breathing matched the hiss of the stream water. The night cradling me in its solitude.  
The bud of my cigarette glows a hot red before turning to dusty ash with every drag. I fill my lungs with a yin-yang mixture of fresh mountain air and chemical-filled smoke. I’d gotten used to the bite in my throat. It’s almost satisfying now. I flick the ashes into the moist grass surrounding me before taking a drag until the last of the tobacco burns down. I put the smoldering filter out on my hand. The heat greeted my skin with a kiss before sinking its ugly fangs into my palm. Just something else I have grown accustomed to. It was bittersweet, like the burning in my throat. I sit lazily. Slouching and tired, the weight of the world on my shoulders, as if humanity had dubbed me the honor of being a world barer. I didn’t need another cigarette but, I took one out and lit it anyway. I rolled it between my fingers and watched the cherry burn, admiring the way it looks. Watching the smoke roll off the cherry into the star-freckled skies. I took a drag and tasted more filter than anything else and coughed grey smoke. I exhale the last bit of toxins from my breath. It floats out and gets carried away in the summer wind. I love the feeling, both of the smoke and the summer night in the middle of nowhere. The quiet of everything. The feeling of peace. I was scared of breaking this fragile good in the world so, I lay back down. I pull the pack out of my back pocket, it was uncomfortable to lay on. The grass left my clothes damp and clinging to my legs and back. The breeze became cold and wet clothes didn’t mix well but, frankly, I didn’t care. The sky was clear and the forest had its sounds of life but, this was better than life I dealt with on the daily. The city was loud and busy and constricting, here thoughts flowed freely through the air without remorse. The city -especially Capitol City- was filled to the brim with human machines and human factories mass creating the results that the government wanted. People glued to screens being spoon fed propaganda. The sounds so mechanical, I couldn’t think. Colors had been drained from the city. Rather monochrome with every other building having a variation of black or grey steel accompanying red or white brick. The buzzing of neon signs at night help suffocate the thinking process, hypnotising people into thinking how the government wanted them to. Just the memory of this hectic ordered place makes my head hurt. I drag my mind back to the valley. It traps in my thoughts and hones me in. The earth under my back felt peaceful and real. The grass grew wild and long, soft to the touch. The valley had its sounds, had its life. Fireflies woke up with the darkened sky and danced in the air around me. I had stars close enough to touch so, I extended my hand. Their bodies were smooth and slick, They flicker and bob to the cricket love songs played on legs like strings. I look through the mini-lanterns up to the star spilling skies. It was soaked with stars breaking through the dark. Polaris winked at me while Ursa major and minor talked over tea. O’Ryan hunted Scorpio in an endless game of cat-n-mouse. Queen Cassiopeia was turned on her head. I closed my eyes and breathed in their stories. I needed them to live as much as they needed people to know their legends to keep their personalities alive. I find my pack and light another cigarette, letting it hang from my lips absentmindedly only removing it when lung capacity was maxed out. I slept there, burning cigarette and smoke dripping from my mouth, in a grass valley under layers of dancing stars. I didn’t have a care in the world. I liked that.  
I swallow the stone in my throat when I woke up. Upon opening my eyes, I learned quickly that the sun was almost too bright and the grass had lost its moisture. My clothes clung to my skin like a scared child to their mother. Though the heat and humidity were awful, there was still nothing around. The trees whispered to each other when the breeze blew and the mourning doves tweeted soft words. I sit up and greet the edges of the grass with my fingertips, it was only to my shoulders when I sat. A field mouse darted out of my gaze just as quickly as he came, so I looked at the sky. The sun seemed angry at humanity with the way it sends hotter beating rays every year. Quite frankly, I don't blame it. I wasn't loving what humanity was turning into either. We were destroying its lively child, like cancer. My copper hair falls over my eyes slightly, I tuck it away behind my ear. I feel the sleeve of my t-shirt slide down my arm, exposing my freckled shoulder. The sky was clear. I could see every splatter of bright blue sky and I adored it. The isolation was unmarked beauty. I didn’t want to go back to my masked society. Sadly, if I didn’t return I’d be replaced with yet another freelancer just trying to avoid the corporate machine.  
All the rhymeless dancing from the night before was replaced with free life. I sigh and light a cigarette. I want to become a tree here. Live thousands of years. Watching the forests and valleys grow. Seeing the family lines, generations of all the animals grow -like parents do children- and die - as children do parents. I wanted to watch them breathe. But, if I was a tree, I’d grow in the valley to shade and protect any of the free-spirited people like myself. That will be my death wish, bury me in a tree. I let a huff of white smoke out into the air. Maybe, I could be a tree to replenish all the air I’ve poisoned throughout my lifetime. Be a filter for all things bad. Maybe, I’ll buy a new tree for my apartment.  
Grudgingly, I start my hike back to my car. By car I mean my beat up pick up truck from 2016 -that's about 24 years old now- but, it did its job and got me from point A to B without much resentment. Carefully, I stand, the wild grass coming to my hip, tickling my sides. Then gathering my stuff, I tie my boots and follow my flattened grass path to the edge of the valley I slept in. The grass stuffed under my feet and the stuttering of the blades between the grooves in my well-loved rubber soles seemed so cruel. Songbirds chased each other for food and I regret not bringing my water bottle with me. The sun hit down on me while the grass painted my white jeans green as I re-crushed its bristles. Still about a mile through wild felids and forests to walk before I get to my plum colored pick up. These grass filled lands could swallow me whole and I wouldn’t mind.  
It’s a thirty-minute hike from my field to my truck, its the most scenic hike one could take. This time of year, the aspen trees practically glow green. The pine trees perk up, happy with the water and sunshine. It smells like soft dirt and pine needles. The sun felt nice under the tree cover. The veins in the leaves were their own type of art. The birds were singing and the ground felt soft like fresh rain. It was peaceful and perfect. I almost talk myself into staying here, but the threat of losing everything still lingered over my head. I sigh, the weight of that thought was almost enough to light a cigarette. I ignored the urge to take the packet from my pocket.  
Finally, after following my trail back, I find my plum Colorado. Its exterior beaten a bit from hail storms and minor collisions with trees or poles. Tree branches -as beautiful as they may be -have scraped and scratched my paint every time I follow the more unruly terrain. I climb in the driver's seat and dig for my water bottle. When I find the thing, I claw the top off and gulp the contents down as if it was the first thing I’ve had to drink in months. The water lapped off my bottom lip, some drizzles down my chin. It was still cold and crisp, cold enough to freeze my front teeth. My dry throat felt the refreshing relief of cold water.  
Once that was gone, I settled in finding my box of breakfast bars. I unwrap a blueberry one and dreaded the starting of my ignition. I hoped the thing would stall or stutter into not starting. A frown deepened my face when the old Colorado gasps in with life and roared at my foot pressing its pedal. Sighing, I finish my breakfast bar, my brow furrowing together and I started the drive back to Capitol City. It was a beautiful drive back on a beautiful day, even in the snow if I was bold enough to admire the winter heavy branches while doing sixty down a winding mountain highway. I sigh and follow the horizon and the road. Nothing on the radio seemed to amuse me so my hand twitches to the mute button. Eyes sliding over to the clock cursing under twitching lips at the realization of being late. I’d slept too long. Dez would be frustrated, but I’d keep my position. He knows I’m his best investment and the realist person on the crew he’s got. And, as if on cue, my phone sings gently. The strumming of a soft guitar and violin strings floods the speakers of my truck via Bluetooth. Dezmon’s obnoxiously perfect smile appears on the center tablet’s screen.  
I answer, “Hey Dezmon.”  
“Oh no! Somebody must have overslept and then got up on the wrong side of the bed,” He spits sarcastically.  
“I didn’t sleep in a bed,” I mutter.  
He sighs, “Listen, Cedar, you’re an amazing caster. Your writing is superb. Your podcasts are fire, but coming in late like this all the time. I’m going to have to result in…” He paused and breathed in slightly.  
I knew what he meant but I wanted him to say it anyway. I wanted him to say he might take my sponsorship away. I wanted him to say it because Dez was the kind of person that if he didn’t say it he wouldn’t do it.  
He never continued so I sighed, “I understand Dez but, your location kills me. I don’t like the city and when I point out what’s wrong with people and the government I don't want them investigating you.”  
We sat in disrupted silence. The rumbling of my not-so-eco-friendly truck, of the gas pedal pumping more fuel into the engine. There was a solid highway in front of me. It would take another hour and a half -if traffic was good- to get back to Capitol City.  
“Dezmon? You there?”  
“Yeah… I’m just… processing. I have a lot of people under me. I can only sponsor four of you. The others are pissed at me for investing most of that money into you. You’re lucky I like you and your work because your work hours suck. You’re a good student, a fantastic view of today’s society, Cedar. Don’t let them close your mind. I don’t want another Alice case.”  
He hung up not saying anything more, not even a goodbye. My shoulders slump forward and I held my breath until I pull over at the shoulder. When I put it in park, I scream. I beat the heel of my hands against the steering wheel, it made a satisfying squeak from the horn when I did. Dezmon thinks I’m going to be an Alice? I'm grounded and I work. I don’t waste my time coming up with stories and theories I can’t prove. I don’t come up with pointless conspiracies that could get me in trouble. I don’t plot against the government, I simply write about what is wrong, somebody listening or reading my work can do what they want with the information, I’m just putting out the facts. Everything I say is true, and it has the research to back it up. I guess that’s why my article readers and podcast listeners liked me so much. Being called an Alice case was like being called worthless, telling me I’m not doing my job, or that I’ll amount to nothing. I glare at my phone. Almost deciding against it, I call my sponsor once again.  
“Hello, this is Dezmon Agular Interaga speaking, from DAI Inc. How may I help you?”  
“Did you just call me an Alice?”  
He cackles at me, “Yes, I did. You’re just an Alice not like the others. You’re not in Wonderland. You have your facts and prove the fiction wrong. You’re not fake or full of conspiracies, you see what the government does to the people. They feed us what we want to hear sure voting happens but, as you’ve said, it's completely biased because who they want to win will win. People are now Sheeple and you have pointed out the herd’s lost of independent thinking with actual facts. You’re just an Alice with a grip on reality and facts loaded on a bullet tongue. You are the most powerful Alice I’ve ever met.”  
With this, he hung up again. I wasn’t sure if I should be honored or sick. Alice cases got stuck in a Wonderland way of thinking. They find ways to create popular conspiracy theories and spread them like wildfire. They get caught for spreading fake news and get investigated for treason. If the articles or posts are stupidly posting without much to them. In 2021 the government got tired of fake news so they banned it with a quick amendment accompanying the Constitution. It usually spits on their credibility so, the first step they took to control the people, the government took away the ability to spread fake news and called it treason if it was remotely about the government. Now, in order to get most factual things, you needed to get past the restrictions or, find the facts out yourself. I decided since Dez likes my work that I’d take it as a complement. I take out a cigarette and light it. Thinking, I might as well smoke now and use this time to think. I take a long drag, turning off my phone and get out of the car. I take in the mountain air. It helped calm me. I was not an average Alice if one at all. At least I wasn’t some nobody in a basement or at the library making stuff up for attention -or worse for a devastatingly popular termination. I’m not an Alice.  
My cigarette was bitter. It helped calm my nerves just as well as these mountains. Dez would have to deal with me being later than usual. He’s the one that got me worked up to being with.  
“Stupid Android,” I mutter, smoke rising from my lips, “Can’t process what he says properly enough to consider that it might be offensive.”  
I shake my head and huff out a bitter breath. Mountain air hugged me. For being a highway, this road was almost never busy. It was the cities that drew in the traffic. I guess, with the trams, bullet trains, and planes I don’t blame people for not driving to many places anymore. But, when they take the alternative modes of transportation they miss the sights that those of us driving get to see. Plus, I like the places where nobody else is at, the road less taken, so there are no trains or trams or planes that can take me where I want to be. My truck is pretty close to my best friend or at least something like it. I drop the last of the cigarette and stop it out using the toe of my boot. Climbing back into my truck I start the engine again. Dez can suck it if he thinks I’m going to rush back to a place I don't want to be. It took almost two hours to get to the cafe. It was a clever place run by android Dezmon Interaga. He was a richly programmed bot, one of the most advanced of his kind. He was taught and programmed to run and manage a business. When his creator, Artimus Van Dile, created the code for something similar to free-will so, instead of taking a human co-worker’s job in a major government company -Biz-Tex the most advanced company in the U.S.- he opened this cyber cafe. It had equal amounts of human and android management and became really popular in the first months of opening. It was both tech-savvy and independently owned, this drew crowds in of all ages -from stressed students needing a chill place to study or distress to the older generation appreciating the local place and the less controlled atmosphere. Now, since his cafe was established on the ground level of a tri-story building, he had established a studio swarming with freelancers from all walks of life. Podcast owners, journalists, small running radio announcers, even some photographers, shared his beneficial and well-paying workspace. After his profit had increased drastically, Dez chooses to sponsor the four most successful freelancers and made the third level of his building mini-penthouses. All four of his sponsor holders share that level for living space. The cyber cafe was both my workplace and my home, most would say its maddening but, I like it. When I step in, light chatter and the smell of coffee great me at the door. Friends with flamboyant hair and grey scheme clothes gossiped over hot drinks. When they weren’t doing that, they were glued to a digital screen. Some of them strictly checked phone screens or scrolled through news feeds via a digital contact lens. One girl, sitting at a table for two alone, that had caught my eye. She had wired headphones on, and my initial thought was, ‘who uses wired headphones anymore?’ The longer my eyes held her though, the more I began to admire her. She had silver hair that dripped down her shoulders like layers of silk, drinking a latte. I could tell from the design in the foam of her drink. She gazed out the window, lost in thought and her music, just watching other people pass by. Her skin was pale like her silver hair. She wore a black hoodie with white jeans and grey checkered slip-on Vans. I couldn’t see much of her face but, from what I could tell it was alluring. From what little I could see of her ear she had three hoops climbing up her lobe and a stud with wrap chain of gold that crawled up her ear. I don’t know why she caught my eye, but she was simple but elegant. I let my eyes wander a little longer on her before pulling them away and heading up to the studio. The studio was sleek and white. Clean and crisp with a wall of windows, a recording room, glass-walled offices, and always busy people. Groups of journalists huddled over the smart boards installed into the longer tables. They bickered and discussed their project and typed things on their own tablets making the smart board flash with new ideas. Other androids with wheels for feet rolled stacks of paper and trays of coffee and bottled water around. They had chipper feminine voices and a ‘woman’ build. Their silicone wasn’t as textured as Dezmon’s. They looked like colored plastic mannequins with eyes and a mouth made with the same mechanics as a puppet. Their expressions and emotions were simplistic, unlike Dez. They were programmed to serve, they didn’t have the program for free-will. Much more simple machines. Light shines through the windows and carefully, I maneuver around the small groups of people and avoid to get hit by the bots rushing by. They all buzz with ideas and ‘rebellion.’ We all had fought for our spaces and sponsorships, almost everybody had aimed for mine. My workspace was equipped with all the things I had obtained in the slow steps up Dezmon’s advancing company. I had one two article of the year awards back to back and haven’t let my podcast or article drop below the weekly top three. It was hard to do with getting all the facts I needed, but I liked the challenge. I rush to my office at the end of the hall and pull out my I.D. card to unlock the door. Once I open the door I flick on the lights, flipping my Not Available sign over to its Welcome side. I sign into my computer and just show my I.D. card to the camera. It pulls up a loading screen and in bright blue font saying Welcome, Cedar! Along with the Welcome screen, my old I.D. picture smiled back greeting me. My short cropped hair was a little grown out now. A little bit more than an inch longer than it had been then. Copper hair cut into an asymmetrical pixie cut. Longer bangs fell over my eyes. My freckles where evened out from the distance and the minor editing. My blue eyes misted over from the flash of the camera. In this particular picture, my body was hidden by my suit and tie. It stiffened my form and morphed me into a perfectly neutral shape. My retainer shined in my teeth being greeted by the flash. I decided next corporate picture day I was going to get an updated I.D. When it finally signs in, a notification on my home screen shines through. Its white boxed form mimicking card stock with old typewriter font read Meet me at my office. ~ Dez. I sigh and send the computer into sleep mode. Exiting my office, I head up the stairs. It was only two flights and I took the steps two at a time. Come to the first landing on this level I’m greeted by a grim level three painted on the white finished door. I head into Dezmon’s office. Upon opening the door, I’m greeted by soft jazz and the sent of crisp clean windows. It almost smelled like a hospital. The leather lounge chairs spread like clusters of ice on the open sea around the room were preoccupied with expensive androids draping themselves over the fabric like important people at posh parties. Robotic chatter mixing with the background music and subtle laughing made this seem more like a daytime hub than a place of business. Dez had his desk in front of his crowd. The leather office chair -matching the room’s other sofas and loungers- sitting behind a heavy mahogany desk like a thrown. He was king these weren’t business partners but simply his court and subjects. Something new sat in front of his desk today. Perhaps a new pesent seeking refuge in the king’s lands. It had taken a moment, but I had recognized the way her hair caught the light and the headphones around her neck. Her loose clothing complementing her energy. She laughed, a sound like birds’ songs, light and lovely. Slowly, now aware of the girl from the cafe, I approach his desk. Dez caught me, “Ah! There you are!” “You’re excited to see me,” I murmur. The girl with the silver hair looked at me, shyly she scanned me up and down realizing I was watching her, her fair skin turned a soft pink. “Of course I’m excited to see you,” Dezmon smirks, “you are my best investment after all. And, with being such, I have a new task for you. I’ve found you an intern. This is Skye, a student at Denver’s School of Arts. A journalism major, looking for a mentor showing her how to keep it real. I thought there was nobody better suited for the job than you.” He had a sickeningly sweet tone as if he was planning something more. Skye seemed fragile and shy like she had never seen this world before. Her features -now that I could see them closer and in detail- made her even more lovely than what I had originally come to the conclusion of. She had wide brown eyes and a small button nose. A mole dotted like stray ink on a clean canvas under her left eye. Her nose, like her lips, had a tint of pink. Simplistic beauty seemed to radiate off her. “What do you want me to show her?” I didn’t take my eyes off her. Dez answers, “Show her how things are done around here. She’ll be living with you, under your care. Do as you please.” I sucked in my lip and chewed it softly. I’ll take whatever help I can get. Maybe having a second mind wouldn’t be too bad. I had deadlines to meet and stats to keep up. It wasn’t a bad thing to get this kind of help. She could help me with my research and cut my article work and edit times in half. “Okay,” I turned to look Dezmon in the eye first, then slid them carefully back over to Skye, “We are going to head to my office, get you started on a company tablet, then I’ll show you some of the basics of what we do and where we do it.” She nodded, “Okay.” Skye’s voice was like a cat’s purr. She had an accent but nothing heavy like Russian or German, but it was from Europe. I could pinpoint that much. It almost seemed like The Queen’s English, but without the overly prominent sound. It was almost like she was trying to hide it. As we head back down to my office I try my hand in small talk, “Where are you from?” “Oh, I grew up moving around the U.K. until my family decided to settle into England. After the assassination of one of The Royal Family members, my parents took us here, saying it was safer or something along the likes of that.” “The murder of the Duchess was about seven years ago correct?” “Yeah, I was fresh out of junior high then,” She seemed baffled after I mentioned I knew about the assassination. We got to my door without saying anything else. Swiping my I.D. on the scanner the glass door unlocked once again. The T.V. on the wall had spit out the daily statistics. A graph of my progress -and of course, the other sponsor holder- was displayed, for once I wasn’t on top. With the next slide came the weekly podcast results. The charts hed mine high, only slight competition with Aries at just under fifty listeners behind me. “This one’s yours?” Skye seemed awestruck. “Yeah, it’s got the best equipment on this floor. This computer is 2039 so, it’s only been released about half a year ago. It runs completely off its own Cloud server, on a closed network so nobody else, well… besides you now, can even look at my drafts, practice recordings, or rough articles,” I beam with pride. She smiles something sweet, “That’s amazing! Are you sure you want me in your system?” “Yeah,” I smile back, “How are you supposed to learn from the best when you can’t study their worsts?” “True, I suppose,” Skye giggled giddily. I smile again before finding her a tablet and making her a profile. Skye had a hard time coming up with an alias to go by for her articles. It only took a little over an hour of scrolling through settings before we had created her the perfect set. Minutes after that, thunder shook the building. The windows showed a savage sky before the medal shutters sealed them shut. The storm had come in unexpectedly. Dezmon broke through the still silence on the intercom, “Hey all! As you could see a storm system seems to have moved over us. I am required by law to go into blackout phasing. Please, sponsor-holders, escort everybody to the cyber cafe before heading to your quarters.” The people in the main workspace groaned as the power was cut from any device plugged into an outlet, including the lights. Their time to work was now halted because of the brewing storm. It seemed stupid to pause the progress, but ever since Devon was electrocuted last year while sitting at his desk from a power surge caused by lightning Dez was required by law to shut down during all storms that had even the potential of lightning. He didn’t want another lawsuit for unsafe working conditions. “This is standard for every storm now,” I address. Skye looked worried as soon as the lights went out. Her dark eyes seemed to grow wider as paper and pen journalists grunted and accepted the fact that they would have to work in the hustle-n-bustle of the cyber cafe. I considered taking her to my valley then decided against it for safety sakes. The road would be slick and muddy. I used my card to unlock the exit closest to my office. When the heavy oak door was open some of the members using the private offices escaped against their wishes to work and record. Nobody else seemed to notice that I had opened this side of the building so, I slip through the door tugging Skye with me. We ran up to the highest floor, four flights of cement stairs. Our footsteps echoing off the chamber holding the stairs. “ Workspace is closed,” Skye followed me, “shouldn’t we be heading in the other direction?” “Nope,” I was taking two steps at a time, just another advantage of being tall enough at five foot six. Skye was struggling to keep up, practically running with having to take every step she was a good three or four inches shorter than me, “Why… why are we running up the stairs?” “We are heading to my apartment. Dezmon has four sponsorship holders, we all live on the same level. I am the highest funded of the four because of how well my podcasts and articles do. I am statistically the best journalist here.” “W-what’s your cast called?” She was gasping trying to catch her breath. “Ironically,” I reply pausing at the next landing, “Rainy Nights Spent Alone.” Again, her deep soul-filled dark eyes widen as she stomped up the stairs. She almost looked awestruck but, I didn’t believe that it would be from me. Maybe she saw right through me. Her eyes so dark they looked black on her pale porcelain skin. I felt feverish when she started so, instead of being nice and waiting for her to catch her breath, I took the next flight three steps at a time. Hearing her grunt then sigh before her steps quickened in an effort to keep up. I smirk and chuckle before hitting the next landing and swiping my card in front of the security scanner and opening the door. About ten minutes later, I stood leaning against the open door as Skye trudged up the stairs painting. I feel a small smile pull at the corners of my lips. “Maybe we will work on getting you in shape first. You’re gonna have to keep up with me. I work in remote areas,” I snicker. “I know… I know you’re… you’re my superior but..” She paused head hanging low, parts of her hair draping over her face like heavy silver curtains; in her slump she held up her hand, giving me the bird, the tips of her pale narrow fingers blush pink polished nails. I smiled something wicked. I liked this snappy brit. Her voice sounded a bit like Tracer from the 2016 Overwatch release. “I’m s-sorry…” She stammered. My wicked smile deepened, “It’s unprofessional, but it’s a welcome relief. I’m tired of the formalities. I wanna know the real you, not you trying to impress a new boss. I think Dez assigned you to me because he needs to know I’m doing okay. He’s worried about me and about your success here. I guess that’s a comforting thought.” Skye looked at me, studying my features and body like a bug under a curious kid’s lens. I felt her gaze as she caught her breath. Her inhale made those dark eyes feel warm, like admiration; her exhale was the contrary, cold like bitter judgment. In a course of thirty minutes, her observing made me feverish. “Not to be offensive, but are you a boy or a girl?” “No,” I counter simply. “No?” “Yes, no.” Skye looked lost and very confused. “My answer to your question is no.” “But, I didn’t ask a yes or no question.” I sigh, “Listen, I lost my gender in an accident a few years ago and it’s still hard to talk about.” I bit my lips to hide my spreading smile and to keep from bursting into a loud laugh. Skye just stared at me, a puzzled countenance decorated her face. “What in bloody hell are you talking about?” she seemed frustrated, “What in bloody hell are you?” “Well, sex-wise, I have two x chromosomes.” “So,” She paused, “you’re a…” I interrupt before she’s able to continue, “My pronouns are They, Them but sex-wise yes, I am a woman. What do you go by?” “Umm… She, Her?” “You don’t seem so sure about that.” “There aren’t many people that go by They, Them where I grew up.” “Well, welcome to Liberal swamped Colorado. Everyone can identify as whatever they want.” Skye stood there, quietly gathering her words, “I’m sorry if I offended you.” “You’re all good.” Thunder rumbled behind the walls of the stairwell, echoing slightly. I shiver feeling the gusts of the wind through the empty stone walls. I decide against holding the door any longer so, I step into the dark carpeted corridor. Skye caught the door before it was able to glide shut completely, her silver hair bobbing at her shoulders as it settled from the rash movement. The air temperature was warmer here. Vintage wallpaper hung like old book pages in the hall. The mismatch yellows gave its own eccentric vibe of lost energy. The hall was darker than usual, lit by real candles in the wall sconces. The vibe seemed more haunting without the fluorescents beating down on me. Another thunder boom sounds like glass shattering and despite the warmth, my body grows cold with the hairs on my arms and neck standing on end. I felt like a frightened cat. The hall connecting the apartments was a haunting sight in this light. Candlelight shadows danced their dark bodies on the twisted walls. Somebody came out of one of the apartments. Their hair green, short cropped with small mountain like spikes shooting from the top in a fairly sporadic pattern. He was the color red. Firey and angry in just his demeanor. I’d never seen him before in the eight years of my residence here. I took note of his green hair and gold eyes sharp enough to cut. He faced us, wanting to use the side exit, but decided against it and turned to leave through the main door. My brow furrowed together and my frown deepened my face. New sponsor holders were a rare occurrence, but it was possible. There was also the chance that I might not have been the only one with a new intern. I make mental note to report it to Dezmon just in case. Nobody in these freelance positions liked lurkers whether they are sent from the government or were just homeless anybody outside of the people that lived on this level were unwelcome. I take my key from my back pocket and head towards my door. At least we were able to decorate the doors anyway we’d like. Mine was simple, well for as simple as these doors had gotten. Mine wasn’t as goddy as the others, it didn’t shine or look like a million googly eyes glued on to wood. I had asked to do mine myself instead of paying some fancy woodsmith to do it for me. I didn’t need a woodsmith. I had asked for a plain white smooth wooden door and a pallet of at least twenty different shades and a plethora of brushes. During my first few weeks here -after struggling endlessly to get to my position in Dezmon’s industry- I had a set routine: work my ass off to maintain my status on the board then, come here and sit on the floor painting the valley in its midnight mystics on my door. It took three weeks of slow, steady hand, work. I made everything incorporate in so only a few parts stood out. The knob was originally white so, I painted it a vintage bronze and asked for a skeleton key lock. It added to the storybook look of my door. Carefully, I unlocked the apartment. Leaving all the lights off, I follow the short greeting walkway into my open floor apartment. I practically skip down to my living room. Both outside walls were made of glass. Windows from hardwood floors to pitched ceiling. My metal shutters were always turned off, Dez knew I loved to watch the rain. The darkness was only a dim grey from the outside world peeking in. Just enough to see the silhouettes of the furniture. My living room in the dark was watercolor canvas. The pre-cut shapes creating my couches and the tv, the coffee table barely visible from this angle. But, the floor to ceiling windows was the watercolor paint. Tonight this one was of tumbling clouds and thunderous bolts of lighting against the city and its towers of lives and raindrops abstracting the view ever so slightly in heavy smears. “Skye, close the door when you come in. Google?” I call throughout the open halls. “Yes, Ceder?” My Google Home replied. “Brew some coffee, please,” I answer. Google beeped and the coffee pot answered with a buzz, “Is there anything else I can do for you?” “No, not now,” I respond, “I’ll let you know if we need anything.” The white plastic pod on the wall for my Google Service A.I. stopped flashing green as it powered down. The scent of coffee wafted on the air. The aroma almost summoned a nostalgic history, but I kept them at bay until another time. Skye worked her way into my home, occasionally bumping into my furniture as she maneuvered around my unfamiliar layout. She sat next to me when she had finally gotten over to me. “Do you like coffee?” I ask pretending I didn’t see her drink at the cafe. Skye nods, “Yes, I do.” “Is black okay?” Again she nods. Neither of us bothers to look at the other, we sat on the floor watching the storm with its rage calm the city. Cars drove slower, more cautious than usual, below us. People headed for shelter in long slow steps trying not to step in a puddle or slip. Lights flickered on and rain blurred some making the city seem like fingerprint smeared photograph. Lightning broke the skies and thunder shook the buildings. The white light spreading across the turbulent clouds separating them into Thor’s puzzle pieces. The rain came like mist. Dancing on the forces of the wind, splattering in heavy drops along my window. The pitter-patter of rain on glass eased me. Thunder cracks in the distance and the serenity of sitting on the floor watching the rainfall turning into silhouettes as the storm eats the late afternoon sun. I stand only to check if the coffee had finished brewing. I pull the pack of cigarettes from my back pocket. Peering into the kitchen, I notice the pot is only half full and sigh before opening the pack and tapping one free. I glance at Skye wondering if she would notice or be conflicted at my use of the cigarettes. “Skye,” I offer, “do you want one?” She pulled herself from the hypnotic rainfall, “Huh?” “Do you smoke?” I try again. “Oh, umm…” She paused thinking, “sure?” I had her the one I’d pulled out. Gently getting the pack out again I pluck another one out by its flitter and the lighter from the gap that the missing cigarettes left in the package, lighting mine then hers. She took a drag and coughed as if she’d never done this before. I laugh under my breath, taking a drag of my own. A bitter bite fills my lungs with its sour aftertaste. For a moment it was just me and the rain and the smoke. A strange mix of coffee, smoke and Skye’s perfume float on the warm air. This was the process of making a nostalgic memory. The ones thought of when a familiar sent passes the nose and whispers the names of the people in the room. “You don’t take it into your lungs. Not fully anyway. It’s an inhale, hold it, let it burn, then release type process,” I look at her. She was just watching it. The cherry burns slow. There was not a breeze here so, it burns much slower than mine did in the valley. “I stopped a few months ago,” Skye says as if I had asked her if she’d ever done it before, “but, I’ve been away from home since the semester started… maybe, I’ll pick it back up.” I glare at her, “You don’t have to pick it up again just because of me.” “It’s not trying to impress you, you git! There are so many things going on.” I just eye her. Turning around I go into the kitchen and pull two mugs from the cupboard over the coffee pot. I wait for the pot to finish filling before emptying a good fourth of its contents into the two cups. I wait a few more minutes before watching Skye from the countertops of the kitchen. Her hoodie was wadded on the floor next to her. When there was nothing to bock her silver hair from flowing down her shoulders it reached just below her shoulder blades’ end. She was a pretty sight. Her shoulders shook. Silent tears must have turned into muffled sobs. I move quietly, balancing the coffee in my hands by the handles. I stand behind her tossing the idea of comforting her back and forth in my heads. Slowly, I set the coffee next to her then sit close. “You know, it’s okay to fall apart,” I say not even glancing at her, just out the window at the rain. “Y-you don’t understand,” Skye stutters. “Sure I do,” I scoot as close as I dare, “I do write about societal pressures and bullshit standards.” She takes in a stuttery breath, “What? Are you going to use me as research now?” “Do you want me to get a notepad or recorder?” I roll my eyes and she gives me a sad laugh. I waited for Skye’s reply. Sitting with a heavy silence between us. I craved the feeling of the valley. Its perfect careless wave. Not a thing to worry about. It had taken the weight from my shoulders while she placed her baggage on me as if I am a bellhop. I sit as straight as I can with this new weigh, but it’s harder than I thought. This is what Alas must feel like every given day, holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I’m homesick,” She whispers, soft like the rain, her accent tickling the air, “I almost didn’t pass last semester. The only reason I’m not there taking more Chemistry 101 is because of your boss having some bloody good connections. There’s just been so much.” I felt like she needed to say more, but she didn’t say anything more. She bit her lip and leaned into me, trying to fight back more tears. I slipped an arm around her and pulled her closer. I watched the rain, not stealing even the smallest glance at her, feeling her breathing against my body. She lurched with every deep breath, but I held her. “Google, play my rainy day mix,” I announce, shattering the silence. Skye didn’t stop crying as the music greeted our ears. The coolness of the apartment sent chills down my spine. I shiver as I drink my coffee. It was nice feeling her warmth, I knew what it feels like being cold and feeling empty. “Hey, Google?” I call again, “Turn the heat up, please.” The energy rose along with the heat. I let Skye cry on me until she fell asleep. Her head felt heavy in my lap, her closed eyes still running with tears. I reached over to my couch and gripped a pillow. I moved out from under her and replaced my lap with the plush red pillow. Once my legs were free, I pull the blanket from the top of the couch and throw it over her before heading to bed myself. My room wasn’t anything fancy, seafoam walls and warm sand colored carpet. My bed was covered in a simple white comforter and held by a lightwood painted the color of a sun-bleached shell. Beat up wooden puzzle games littered one of the nightstands, its colorful plastic pieces in a neat pile while the other had blocks stacked in a half-broken cube. Books lined the shelves mounted on the walls around the room. The most loved and well-read books had begun to yellow in pages. These books always lined the shelf by the bay window. I would read by the window every chance I got and these books always held adventures and memories of the best qualities. Heroes would save the city and get the love interest. Others are my favorite mysteries both old and new, classics and modern-day thrillers. My art corner -the one closest to the bay window- held my edsel and crumpled up balls of sketch paper and a smattering of paint brushes and half-used tubes of paint. Hanging from the ceiling, mini-lantern lights strung across the room in a careless sort of order. A soft white, lacey dream catcher hung in the center of the room over the foot of my bed. A few of my paintings filled the spaces on the walls. I flop on my bed and find my softest blanket before nuzzling into it and falling asleep.


End file.
